When Life Goes Bad
by Tammaiya
Summary: Locke is not having a good time. He's left his past behind for reasons only he knows to join a brothel, of all things. But Edgar has found him. By Celestina.*yaoi*
1. Default Chapter

 Locke tried not to stiffen or flinch away when one of the paying costumers grabbed him from behind, but it really was hard. All his natural instincts screamed for him to fight or flee, but that just wasn't an option. Not if he wanted to keep his job in the bar, anyway.

 Locke heaved a sigh when he heard the bell announce a newcomer. Great, the boss was going to want him to make a pass at them, whoever they were. It was, after all, his primary function.

 Plastering a fake smile on his lips, Locke turned to greet the new customer and froze. 'Shit!' He thought frantically, hoping against hope that Edgar hadn't recognised him yet. Locke considered going and finding something else to do so that he looked busy, but one look at the scowl on the owner's face and that idea was trashed. Looks like there was nothing for it but to take his chances.

 There was still a possibility that this wouldn't turn into a catastrophe, though. Locke's silvery brown hair had grown to shoulder length, and the tight clothing he wore was far different from his usual outfit. He was even wearing a little makeup, surprisingly enough. However, he had flatly drawn the line at a dress. Actors wore makeup, but the only people who wore dresses were girls and weirdos, and if the patrons wanted to see a girl, then they were in the wrong place. As for his voice? Locke could deal with that. After all, he WAS a master of disguise.

 Seemingly confidently, Locke smirked, swaggering slightly towards his long time friend. If it were anyone else, this would be a piece of cake. He'd just pretend it wasn't someone he knew and get on with it. Not that it would work, of course. Edgar didn't approve of whores, and even if he did, Locke was fairly sure he didn't go for men. It was worth a try, though. No sense in getting fired over it, after all. He wasn't at all comfortable with the idea of making moves on his former best friend, but all he had to do was greet him. It wasn't like anything was going to happen.

 "Why, hello stranger. Want some company?" Edgar's head snapped up at the sound of the unknown voice. Narrowing his eyes, he gave Locke a look that made the thief want to pray fervently that he wasn't found out. "Excuse me?"

 "I said," Locke murmured, "would you like some company" Not waiting for an answer, he sat down on Edgar's lap, straddling his hips. As Locke reached out toward Edgar's face, though, he found his wrists caught in an iron hard grip. Serious blue eyes bore into him, making him feel exceedingly uncomfortable.

 "Not that you aren't cute, but first," Edgar stated softly, "tell me your name. You seem to remind me of someone."

 Cute? Was Edgar drunk? Because there could be no other explanation for why he was apparently coming on to a male. If Locke had the freedom to respond to that, Edgar would get his arse kicked from there to the moon. But this wasn't looking good. Not only had Edgar asked his name, he was beginning to recognise Locke. While he was trying to come up with a plausible response to this, however, fate was taken out of his hands.

 "Oi! Cole! When you're not busy, could you come up here and help out at the bar? We're short staffed tonight, Leslie went home sick."

 Locke closed his eyes, wishing he could get completely smashed right then and there. Wasn't going to happen, unfortunately.

 'Oh, shit. That's my cover blown well and truly. I am SO screwed.'

 Locke opened his eyes slowly, cringing slightly, to find Edgar staring at him with wide eyes.

 "Locke?"

 Locke bit his lip. This was going to be a tough one to explain. "Um."

 Edgar searched Locke's eyes desperately, trying to find an answer of some sort. "Locke, what are you DOING here?"

 Locke sighed wearily and tried half-heartedly extricate his wrists.

 "What does it look like, Edgar? I'm sorry, but I've got to make a living somehow. Since the treasure hunting trade isn't doing so well, I have to do SOMETHING."

 Edgar's expression was vaguely wounded. "Why didn't you come to me, Locke? You know I would help you! Besides, we all miss you. None of us knew where you disappeared to, you didn't even say goodbye. You worried us!"

 Locke's eyes flashed angrily, and he struggled to shake off Edgar's hold again. "I don't want your charity, Edgar. Now let me go, I have a job to do!"

 If anything, the pressure from Edgar's hands merely increased. "Please, Locke, don't do this! Why sell yourself like this? Why are you lowering yourself this way?"

 Locke glared at Edgar, a frantic edge to his movement. "Maybe I LIKE being a whore, ever thought of that?"

 Edgar took a deep breath. "Don't you give me that crap, Locke. I know you. You have way too much stubborn pride and dignity for that. So what on earth has driven you to this level? I believe you when you say you like being a thief-"

 "Treasure hunter." Locke muttered irately.

 "-Fine, treasure hunter. That's just an innate part of your personality. But this just isn't you!" Edgar pleaded.

 Locke watched him coldly. "Are you done lecturing me? If so, will you please let me go so I can return to my job now? Unless, of course, you're willing to pay for my services."

 "Locke, I don't want you to be my whore! I don't want you to be ANYONE'S whore!" Edgar yelled. By this time, their argument had turned into something of a spectator sport. Bets were being placed on the origins of the fight. Needless to say, there was a rather large amount of money on the 'jilted lover' count.

 Locke blinked back what looked suspiciously like tears. "Oh, really?" he hissed, grinding his hips into Edgar.

 Edgar gave a startled gasp, loosening his grip involuntarily. Locke took the chance to yank himself free and was about to storm off when Edgar stood up and grabbed his shoulders, spinning him around.

 "Locke, why are you being so damn stubborn?"

 Locke clenched his fists and tried to break away again, refusing to answer or even meet Edgar's eyes. His patience having finally worn thin, Edgar growled and grabbed Locke round the waist. Seeing what was about to happen, Locke yelped and attempted futilely to escape.

 "Oh, no, Edgar, you can't be serious, don't you DARE- ah!" Despite his furious protestations, Locke was lifted easily and tossed over Edgar's shoulder, whence he immediately began an assault of arms, legs and vocal cords, all to no avail.

 "Put me down, you moron! Let me go, let me go, let me GO! Quit it! Edgar, leave me alone, dammit!" Locke's screams were becoming steadily more frantic and hysterical as Edgar walked toward the door.

 Not stopping, Edgar rolled his eyes. "For goodness sake, Locke, give it a rest! You've gotten soft, it seems, cause the only thing you're doing is wearing yourself out. Now will you PLEASE calm down and stop making a scene? I'm just taking you to the damn palace! Gods, anyone would think I was going to chuck you in the dungeons or something, the way you're carrying on."

 Locke took a deep breath and began to shriek again. "Put me DOWN, you stupid lousy king!"

 As one, the occupants of the bar blinked at the unexpected revelation. It would have been funny in any other situation. Locke's boss had been considering calling the guards, but that seemed rather pointless now. They probably wouldn't want to arrest a king and the suchlike. It was bad for foreign relations. Besides, the man reasoned as Locke's loud wails faded into the distance- it had provided the customers with such excellent entertainment!


	2. The Chocobo Stinks

Locke was not in a very pleasant mood. Not only had Edgar manhandled him and tossed him around like a sack of potatoes, he was now slung over a the back of a chocobo in a most undignified manner! The chocobo smelled, too.

 Locke had the suspicion that Edgar had considered trussing him up like a chicken, but had decided against it. Probably more to do with the fact that Locke's past as a treasure hunter (ie thief) would make the gesture pointless than their longstanding friendship, though.

 Right now, Locke was sulking. He had no problems admitting, either, as he at least felt his behaviour was perfectly justified. How would you like to be treated like a thing? Exactly. You wouldn't.

 Edgar had given up trying to converse with his very difficult travel companion about an hour back. Locke refused to talk to him, so instead he had sunk into his own thoughts. Most of these thoughts were very depressed.

 He couldn't understand why Locke had done it. Edgar had just woken up one day with a massive hangover and had gone out to find his friends in a state of panic. Locke had just disappeared, no note, no nothing. None of them knew where or why. He'd given no previous indication.

 They had entertained the possibility of a kidnap for a short while, but they all knew they were deluding themselves. Locke had taken his small number of possessions with him. Everyone figured that he'd probably heard about some treasure or other and had gotten so excited that he'd left at once and forgotten to say goodbye.

 Only, Edgar knew that wasn't it. Locke always told him when he was leaving, even if he had to wake the young king up at some hideous hour of the night. So Edgar was aware that this wasn't just Locke's normal behaviour, and he alone continued to worry. His efforts to find Locke for the last year had proved somewhat fruitless, and it was pure luck that he ended up in that bar when he did. He had needed a drink; he had found Locke.

 Edgar didn't really know whether what he found was better or worse than what he'd been dreading. He had been afraid that Locke was caught, or injured, or at the worst killed, but he'd never even considered the notion that Locke might be- selling himself. It just didn't make sense. Locke had a strong personality, not to mention pride and dignity. He wouldn't even let people call him a thief. So what on earth had driven him to this?

 Edgar had the sinking feeling that it might have been something he did, but he had no idea what. It would certainly explain why Locke left without telling anyone. But wouldn't Edgar have noticed if he'd done something that truly awful? He must have done something or said something the night before Locke left. He was so drunk he couldn't remember anything, and it was extremely frustrating.

 Edgar still felt that whatever he did wouldn't be bad enough to drive Locke to this, though. Maybe something had happened after that? This was probably true, but Edgar wasn't going to understand the situation any more unless he asked Locke. Which obviously wasn't an option right now, so he'd just have to wait.

 Meanwhile, Edgar found the silence was becoming a bit oppressive. Shifting nervously in the saddle of the chocobo, he looked over his shoulder at Locke, who was currently bracing himself over the back and looking very annoyed.

 "Locke. Will you just say something? Please? You haven't said anything since we left that town."

 There was a short silence, and then Locke finally responded in irate tones.

 "Fine. I'll say something. I would just like you to know that this is embarrassing, uncomfortable, and the chocobo stinks!"

 That reminded Edgar so much of the old Locke that he couldn't help bursting out laughing. Granted, the laughter was a bit hysterical, but it was laughter none-the-less.

 Locke groaned.

 "If I promise not to jump off the chocobo and run, can I sit up now?"

 Edgar shrugged. He was just glad that Locke had started talking again.

 "Yeah, sure thing. You don't want to stop for a rest or anything?"

 Locke blinked. Stop for a rest?

 "How do you know I won't try to run away?"

 Edgar sighed. "Locke, we used to be best friends. I hope we still can be some day, but for now- can't we pretend things are like they used to be, at least until we get to the castle?"

 Locke considered this. He was tired, sore, and hungry, not to mention that he really did miss his old friendships. He could act normal for a short amount of time if it meant he could get off the damn chocobo.

 "Whatever. But only until we get to the castle, got it? Now are we stopping for that rest, or what?"


	3. It's an Edgar Thing

Here we go, part three! I call it 'It's an Edgar Thing' for reasons that will later become apparent. But first, we must not forget my one reviewer!

LinkinFantasy: Yay, someone likes me! *happy sob* But yes, Locke's hair. It's real, and it's not THAT long. Only about to, say, his shoulder. Now, on with the fic!

It was the dead of night when Locke and Edgar arrived at the castle. Edgar had reached the conclusion that he didn't really want to be seen by anyone just yet, especially taking into account how his subjects were prone to gossip. If they saw him arriving at odd hours of the evening with a strange male that looked suspiciously like Locke, well- let's just say that the rumours would spread like wildfire, growing more and more outrageous with each re-telling. There were a lot of middle-aged women in the castle. Edgar wasn't going to risk it.

 This level of secrecy was somewhat amusing to Locke. It reminded him of all the times when he had had to sneak in to see Edgar in the past, and the more recent memories of being allowed to enter freely. However, the grin quickly faded and Locke's eyes turned cold when he remembered all that had happened since the last time he'd been here.

 If Edgar noticed these abrupt mood swings, he gave no indication of it. This seemed strange at first, but then Locke realised the King was using all his concentration to sneak into his own castle, not being as used to such things as the thief was. It was absurd in so many ways, and Locke found himself struggling to suppress his laughter. Tempting as it was to put Edgar out of his misery and take over, Locke had to concede that he did indeed enjoy watching the other man suffer. Payback time.

Edgar's efforts to be inconspicuous were, to Locke, very obvious and equally entertaining. It was just as well everyone was in bed at this ungodly hour, because had this not been the case, they would have immediately stuck out as being suspicious and of special interest. Watching Edgar was becoming almost painful, and Locke really had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

After what seemed like hours, they eventually reached the throne room. Edgar placed a hand on Locke's chest and motioned for him to keep quiet and stay in the shadows. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke of much fire and brimstone should Locke even _consider _the idea of making a break for it. Locke shrugged, and figured he'd hang around either way. This wasn't so bad, and it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

As Edgar snuck off to one of the little rooms at the back of the hall, Locke slouched against the cold stone wall and stared at the rich carpet with a bored expression. He had started up an incredibly stupid and infantile mental game of 'I Spy' when Edgar reappeared, dragging someone behind him. The person looked decidedly irritated. Locke could sympathise.

A few minutes later, it became clear that this mystery person was, in fact, the King's advisor. He did not look at all pleased at having been awoken by his rash and occasionally insane young employer. Edgar himself was talking softly but animatedly, gesturing wildly as he tried to get his point across. Locke had to stifle his smirk at that. No matter what, Edgar never changed. For a fleeting moment, it was almost like the old days, like the past year had never happened.

The counsellor looked rather miffed, but agreed to whatever Edgar was asking. Locke was even more miffed when Edgar did a small dance conveying victory and glee. Silently, he decided that this would earn a place of honour in his records of Edgar's Stupidest Moments.

Edgar was soon left alone as the other man ran off again, but in the opposite direction than from whence he came. Locke was confused, but reasoned that he'd understand soon enough. It was probably an Edgar-thing. He had found it was best not to question those; contemplation of them by anyone but Edgar often resulted in a slight sense of being disturbed. Locke sometimes wondered whether Edgar's skill at mechanics had to do with the weird, scary, and overly complex ways in which the royal engineer's mind works. He didn't really want to delve to far into that thought, though. He was a bit wary of what might be concluded.

After approximately an hour of Locke banging his head half-heartedly against the wall and Edgar giving him funny looks, the advisor returned. Reporting to Edgar in low whispers, he then returned gratefully to his warm soft bed for the night.

Edgar's grin was manically enthusiastic as he grabbed Locke's wrist and began to pull him through the castle. Locke was really too tired to bother objecting.

 "I got my counsellor to prepare a room for you. It's not too far from mine, so come on."

Locke shook his head wryly. Even when it was past midnight, Edgar was still perfectly hospitable to his guests.

Edgar came to a sudden halt outside one of the tower rooms, opening the door and ushering Locke inside. Something about Edgar's smug expression concerned Locke slightly, but for right now, he couldn't care less. All he wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sleep for a century or so. Oh, and bathe to rid himself of that stinky chocobo odour that currently permeated every inch of his body, but that could wait until morning.

Yawning, Locke kicked his boots of and started to pad over to the bed, but before he could collapse onto the pillows and pass out from sheer exhaustion, he realised he'd forgotten to ask Edgar about clothing arrangements. He really could not wear this outfit around Figaro, even if it wasn't worn and disgustingly dirty.

When Locke tried to open the door, however, it seemed to stick. Rattling the brass handle harder, Locke gave the wood an experimental shove. It refused to budge. Getting increasingly more frantic, he started to beat at the door. It began to sink in that it was locked. Locked very intentionally. Locked with a lock so big and heavy and complicated that not even Locke could pick it. He stared at it blankly for a few seconds, and then the rage began to build. Now that he was looking, he noticed that the window was locked and all the sharp or potentially dangerous items had been removed. The anger grew more.

"Bastard!" Locke fumed, kicking the door incredibly hard. He winced as the pain shot up his foot. The door was one of those big ornate ones, the kind that are impressive and expensive and above all, heavy.

Edgar's cheerful tones emanated from the other side.

"That's my name, don't wear it out!"

Locke found himself torn between the urge to laugh and scream. 'Yes,' he told himself, 'Edgar really hasn't changed'.


	4. Dear Gods

A/N: Well, I haven't updated this story for a VERY long time, and for those who have read it, I sincerely apologise. I'm a very easily distracted person- all it takes is a load of things such as schoolwork or writer's block, a new plot bunny, and I'm off like a shot. Anyway, I rather like writing this story, and I had some spare time, so I decided it was long past time for an update. I've forgotten some of the things that were supposed to happen, but I've remembered the basic jist, as well as most of the important details, so it should be fine. Hopefully there are people out there who'll enjoy this. ^ ^

Whistling to himself in a very pleased fashion, Edgar strutted off to bed. Oh, he was good. He was VERY good, if he did say so himself. Locke's outraged screams would be a source of amusement for ages to come, that was for sure. Laughing to himself as he sat down on his bed and pulled off his boots, Edgar shook his head. It was good to have Locke back, even if the circumstances were so very unfortunate.

Flopping backwards onto his bed, Edgar let his arms fall limply above his head and sighed. It was impossible, not knowing what had caused this chain of events to occur. No, it was more than in impossible- it was frustrating. Completely and utterly frustrating. Edgar was king, dammit, and he was used to getting what he wanted in a roundabout kind of way. This was most definitely _not_ what he wanted, that he was sure of.

The problem was, Edgar wasn't quite sure what he _did_ want, when it came right down to it. Presumably, he was supposed to want to marry a beautiful and virtuous lady, be a good king and sire heirs to the throne. Well, he knew he wanted to be a good king, if that counted for anything. He wasn't too positive about the other two points, however. And could he be a good king without a wife or heir? His advisors certainly didn't think so- they had made their opinion _very _clear on the matter.

Once, Edgar had thought himself in love with Terra. He had gone out of his way to assure her that his advances went beyond his usual flirtatious manner, attempting to woo her and win her over. She had remained unimpressed, informing him gently that she wasn't looking for romance, at least not yet, and even if she were it would definitely not be with him. Was it just him, or did she cast a wistful glance at Celes then? Regardless, that had been a very sobering experience. He had very quickly realised that his feelings for Terra were little more than an infatuation, inspired by her exotic nature and his need to conform to the restraints of his position.

Very sobering indeed. After that, Edgar had found himself very confused. Every time he considered flirting with a girl, he began to wonder whether he really liked her or whether he was just doing it because he felt he had to. He never knew, and it was incredibly headache inducing. He had found himself unable to lavish attention on every female with two legs, or in fact any, and it had concerned his advisors immensely. More than that, it had worried Sabin and Locke beyond reason. Was his lack of flirtation really that shocking? Upon retrospect, Edgar had to acknowledge that it was.

It had been during that period when things had gone wrong. Or more wrong, whichever way one viewed it. Sabin and Locke had spent extensive periods of time trying to coax the problem out of him. Sabin had a very direct method- a blunt and ruthless third degree that generally people caved in to because they could take no more. This time, however, it had yielded no results, and Sabin had given up in disgust. Ostensibly, he was going on a journey to train. In reality, he was handing the reigns over to Locke.

Locke, being a thief, was used to employing much more subtle and cunning devices than Sabin. Thus it was that he had conspired to get Edgar drunk by whatever means necessary. It hadn't taken too long- drinking games were always a favourite with Edgar. They were both completely pissed not long after, and Edgar assumed Locke had weaselled some form of concession out of him purely because it was, after all, _Locke _they were talking about. Edgar very rarely remembered what had happened after getting toasted- he would generally wake up with a hangover, no memory and an abundance of friends prepared to laugh at him and deflate his ego. Sabin and Locke, most specifically.

This time, though, he awoke to find a hangover and a sense of wrongness. As per usual, he had absolutely no recollection of the events leading up to his current state, but beyond that… there was something wrong. He knew it, even if he knew nothing else.

He had ignored his pounding head, throwing a cloak over his rumpled and barely clad form before going out in source of the problem. It hadn't taken too long for him to realise that Locke was gone, had disappeared without a word of goodbye. It did briefly occur to Edgar that Locke may have mentioned something when he was drunk, but he dismissed it quickly. Locke knew how bad he was at handling alcohol, knew not to tell him anything he was supposed to recall. Besides, it didn't explain the feeling of trepidation, dread. Something really wasn't right.

Edgar had been a bit useless in the days that followed. The chancellor would ask his royal majesty for his opinion or suggestions, and Edgar would merely stare at him blankly. Sabin had returned shortly afterwards to find a twin that was listless or in a panicked frenzy by turns. Over the course of the next month or two, all their friends had made their appearance and attempted to console him, coming up with explanations and consolations. Edgar hadn't been convinced. He was sure Locke had left in a rage or something of the sort, that he didn't intend on returning any time soon, and he could only imagine that it had to be the result of something he had said or done whilst under the influence of the alcohol he had consumed.

God knew what he could have done to drive Locke to prostitution. Edgar shoved a hand through his hair and clenched his fist, yanking slightly in irritation. It was the last thing he'd expected, and none of the others had ever offered up _that _particular reason for Locke's disappearance. Dear gods. He was fighting the intense urge to go and get smashed- that was what had started the whole mess, and it was hardly an intelligent course of action given the situation.

Meanwhile, however, there were more pressing concerns to attend to. More practical ones, at that. Like, for example, what he was going to do with Locke. He could hardly keep his friend locked up incessantly, could he? That was just silly. For one thing, there was the need for Locke to eat, which meant the door being opened for the giving of the food. Edgar had no doubt that the slippery cat-like dweller of shadows would have no trouble in making his escape given such an opportunity. Furthermore, there was the issue of clothing. Locke could hardly remain in his dirty and barely clad state, whether or not he was permitted to wander around the castle. And that was another thing- how was Edgar to keep him from escaping? This was most troublesome. It had never been a problem before, primarily because no one was as good as escaping as Locke and because Locke had never _wanted _to escape before.

Oh, curses. This was just one big mess. Edgar needed Sabin, and _fast._

A/N: And after months, a new chapter is concluded. Please update- it's what reminds me I need to write. I tend to get distracted by other projects, otherwise. ^ ^


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